


Stuck In A Moment

by Juul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juul/pseuds/Juul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets written for Wincest Love Week 2.0 for Willingwinchester</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Every Little Hair Knows Your Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willingwinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willingwinchester/gifts).



> I’ll warn at the beginning of each ficlet that requires it for nsfw content. Also, all of these writings are unbeta’d, so I apologize in advance for any and all mistakes I overlooked. Mostly, I apologize to Sam and Dean for toying with them to amuse myself. This collection is entitled **Stuck In A Moment** That’s a title I stole from a U2 song

**Monday (8th) - Things they love about each other**   
_Every Little Hair Knows Your Name - Jens Lekman_

 

It’s so hard, too hard, to pick only a handful of things he loves about Dean, Sam thinks. He loves _everything_ about Dean. Maybe that’s because Dean is his _everything_. The first thing that comes to mind is his voice, that deep dark rumble that caused so much knee wobbling and confusion in Sam’s brain as soon as it started to drop. There’s the way it whispers reassurances and promises of love and compliments, but also the way Dean’s voice can lie so smoothly, just because he’s a cocky smart-ass son of a bitch. Of course, there’s also all of the filth that spills out of Dean’s mouth on occasion, the kind that makes Sam go completely crazy. Dean has the freckles, and the eyes, and the steady hands that never shake under pressure, and he’s got this way about him when he’s talking to children, and he’s got this smile on his face whenever he’s working on the Impala, and he’s got this crazy way he sings along to _Tainted Love_ on the radio, just because it’s their song. Sam loves Dean’s his voice most of all.

Here’s the thing. For the first seventeen years of his life, Dean never once considered himself gay. But then there was Sammy all of a sudden, becoming tall like a weed and lanky and awkward and generally being a fourteen-year-old, and everything changed for Dean. He fell in love. Real, honest-to-God devoted hart throbbing love, the kind he always used to scoff at on TV. He fell in love with his scrawny little squirt of a brother. He fell in love with hazel eyes, and unruly brown hair, and the hogging of the covers, and the way he whines “Deeaaan,” whenever Dean pesters him. He fell in love with long clumsy fingers and eager chapped lips and he fell in love with the rustling of pages in the back of the Impala, and with soft, gentle snores. Five years later, Dean fell in love all over again. That second time, it was less like sparks and more like lava, when Sam suddenly became hard planes and angles and lean muscle and broad shoulders. Two thick upper arms that can pin Dean in place easily. If you asked him, he’d say he loves both Sams equally. Secretly, they both know that the broad shoulders completely undo Dean. Sam works out just to tease him some mornings.


	2. Soul Love

_Soul Love - David Bowie_

Dean was looking at the fluorescent green numbers on the digital alarm clock, mentally counting down the seconds. 11:59:56, 11:59:57, 11:59:58, 11:59:59, 00:00. His wrist was already bared, and Dean immediately looked down at the pale skin. He felt a burning sensation, like someone was etching the name into his skin. The name, what was it? He couldn’t quite make it out yet. He squinted in the soft lamplight, tried to breathe slowly and stay calm, and then suddenly the writing became clear and calm flew out the window.

The inside of Dean’s wrist said “Sam Winchester” in neat, familiar, loopy script.

Dean had turned sixteen thirty seconds ago. As promised, the name of his soulmate had appeared on his wrist at exactly that moment. His soulmate was his brother. There was a loud knock on the door and an excited yelp.

“Who is it, Dean? Who is it? Can I come in yet? Please?”

Dean hastily yanked his sleeve down and murmured “Yeah,” in a grave tone.

“Who is it, Dean? Who is it?”

Dean didn’t have to feign the tears in his voice when he said: “The writing’s black, Sammy, whoever it is is already dead.”

Sam gave him a pained look, but Dean wasn’t paying attention. The knowledge that he was exactly as much of a sick fuck as he’d always feared, that the evidence of it was branded on his skin, was eating away at him. He had four years to figure out what to do.


	3. Fluorescent Adolescent

_Fluorescent Adolescent - Arctic Monkeys_

_Warning: kind of nsfw, discussion of sexual topics. Sam’s fifteen, so underage, but there’s no actual sexual contact._

“D’you wanna play truth or dare?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. No, he did not want to play truth or dare with his more than mildly intoxicated fifteen year old brother. He did not. He was a fucking adult now, damn it. Sam’s eyes were big and brown and they seemed to glow in the soft light of the streetlamp outside.

“Yeah, sure, Sammy, whatever you want.”

Sam’s grin lit up the whole room. “Truth or dare?”

“Uhm,” shit, this was such a bad idea, “truth, I guess.”

“Tell me one of your wank fantasies.”

The question came out so quickly that Dean was sure Sam had been sitting on it for a good long time.

He scoffed. “Whaddaya mean? Tits and stuff. Why? What are _your_ wank fantasies?”

He was sure he hadn’t quite hit the right note between teasing and curious, because Sam eyed him oddly.

“That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I meant, in detail.”

Dean was silent.

“Last night, Dean. When I heard you jerk off. What were you thinking about?”

Another beat of silence, then: “Fucking someone from behind in the backseat of the Impala.” He said it quickly, as though that would make it easier, and he didn’t meet Sam’s eyes.

Sam nodded, and made a little movement under the table. Was he _touching himself?_

Christ.

“That’s all I wanted to know. You ever feel like telling me who it was, I’m kinda curious.”

“Go to bed, Sam.”

Dean downed the rest of the whiskey and he slept on the couch that night. He could hear the soft breathy sounds of Sam jerking off, and tried very very hard not to imagine what his brother might be thinking.


	4. Truth Hits Everybody

**Thursday (11th) - truth spell**   
_Truth Hits Everybody - The Police_  
 _Warning: kind of nsfw, some dirty talk._

“So, do you want to get a burger somewhere?”

They were in the Impala and dinnertime was approaching. They’d just ganked a nasty witch and Dean felt like celebrating with greasy food. Sam’s answer took him by surprise.

“No.” It was firm and certain and Sam looked a little surprised himself. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Well then, smart-ass, whaddayawant?”

“I want to take you back to the motel room and peel off all your clothes and lick the sweat off the back of your neck.”

Dean gaped over at Sam. The car swerved out of the lane for a few seconds, but Dean managed to keep them on the road.

“What?”

Sam was blushing, he’d closed his eyes as though he was ashamed, but none the less he repeated in a clear voice: “I want to take you back to the motel room and peel off all your clothes and lick the sweat off the back of your neck.”

“Sam, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Dean. I’ve just had more than enough of always looking at your gorgeous lips and never kissing them.”

“Sam. What the fuck?” Dean was getting uncomfortable now. What the hell had happened to the considerate, demure little brother he knew? Why was Sam suddenly saying these things?

“Sam, why do you say that?”

Sam looked at Dean helplessly. “Because it’s true.”

Shit. Shit. God fucking damn it. Dean banged both hands against the steering wheel hard when the thought occurred to him. “Sam. You’ve been hit with a truth spell.”

“What?”

“Come on, dude. Try telling me your name is Abraham Lincoln or something.”

Sam opened his mouth and drew in a big breath, but no sound came out. He turned bright red.

“Dean,”

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“But… did you hear those things I said just now?”

“Yes,” Dean said. It was time for him to be honest, especially because he could be sure Sam would return the courtesy. “I wouldn’t…” he hesitated. “I wouldn’t object to any of those things you just mentioned.”

Uncomfortable, hot silence filled the car for a few minutes. Eventually, Sam asked:

“Really?”

“Yeah. In fact, can I ask a couple’a more questions?”

Sam swallowed and didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he nodded.

“How long have you wanted that?”

Sam’s response was immediate and clear: “Since I was thirteen. Oh my fucking God.” 

Dean nodded, trying to hide some of his shock and excitement. “And what exactly do you want?”

Sam’s words came so quickly it was like they were tripping over one another. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick. I want to kiss you until your lips are swollen. I want to hear every sound you make when I make you feel good, Dean. I could make you feel so good.”

Dean pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. He couldn’t get them back to the hotel room fast enough.


	5. Nowhere Is Home

**Friday (12th) - Curtainfic**   
_Nowhere is Home - The Dexys_

It wasn’t a surprise to either of them, in the end, when Dean suggested it. Sam always wanted to settle down, always. It was an unspoken fact, an unfulfilled desire he managed to suppress until Dean was ready. Then, when he was, it was completely up to him to say so.

They picked a town almost at random, not too far north to be cold but not too far south to be hot. Someplace, Dean demanded, where there was a decent steakhouse. Someplace, Sam demanded, where there was a decent bookstore.

The house had an honest to God white picket fence, and they spent a fortune on all the things Dean wanted. Sheets with a ridiculous thread count and fluffy towels and one of those insanely complicated shower heads. Sam ran more credit card scams the month they moved in than he had in all those years on the road. He pulled it off, though, and they could retire and rest easy. Sam figured it was about time, Dean was starting to get old, and society owed them, so what the hell.

The sign on the door read “Dean Winchester and Sam Campbell,” and they told all the neighbors they’d been married eight years. Dean got an exact replica of his ring made and Sam never took it off except to do the dishes.

In the morning, Dean would sleep in. Sam would go downstairs in sweatpants and fry up a couple of eggs. He squeezed fresh orange juice every morning. Then he took everything up to Dean and they ate in bed. Some mornings there’d also be a newspaper on the tray, and Dean couldn’t help but scan it for hunts occasionally. When he spotted one, he messaged someone. Someone who wasn’t them.

They lived happily ever after.


	6. 6. Tenderness On The Block

**Saturday (13th) - Undercover couple**   
_Tenderness On The Block - Warren Zevon_

It started out as a joke. Of course, like everything in a hunter’s life, it ended up dead serious. Dean had dropped out of school three states ago, but he’d pick Sam up from every school every afternoon, leaning against the side of the Impala and grinning.

His mere presence made the girls whisper to each other and the boys turn loud and boisterous. Dean would spread his arms and Sam would hasten towards him, fuck what people thought of them, and hug Dean and smell him just for a second and be grateful that the schooldays was over.

“What’re they whisperin’ about, Sammy?” Dean asked one afternoon after Sam had walked around the hood of the car to climb in the shotgun seat.

Sam snorted. “They think you’re my boyfriend.”

Dean laughed. “They think that? The hell?”

“It’s actually kinda awesome,” Sam said, eyes trained on the footwell. “All the boys respect me and the girls all want to hang out with me because everyone’s got a crush on you.”

“Everyone?” Dean laughed a bit more, wiggled his eyebrows.

The next day when Dean picked Sam up from school, he picked his brother off the ground, pushed him against the door of the car and kissed him on the mouth. That was the way it started; as a joke, maybe. But as soon as Sam started kissing back and opened his mouth a little to let Dean in, it became dead serious.


	7. 7. My Funny Valentine

**Sunday (14th) - Valentine’s Day**   
_My Funny Valentine - Elvis Costello_

It was their relationship’s worst kept secret that Sam was a sappy romantic. The second worst-kept secret was how much Dean loved that about him. Dean had always known Sam was a romantic, had seen it when he wrote Valentine’s Cards to girls in primary school, and sent them roses in junior high. The way he took them out to dinner at Italian places and always, always paid for it no matter how broke they were. Sam was a traditionalist, and Dean knew it. 

When they were younger, Sam’s romantic tendencies had often been the butt of Dean’s jokes. But as they grew older, those little gestures started making Dean uncomfortable, because he secretly wanted all those things for himself. He wanted Sam to hold doors open for _him_ and bring _him_ home little presents and shit, but Sam only did those things for his girlfriends, the girls he fleetingly romanced behind the bleachers of whatever high school they were at that month.

It was only a few years later that everything had changed. That they had been hurt and drunk and Dad had only been dead for a month and it was all the permission they needed to start kissing, clumsy and eager like teenagers. Exactly a week after that, Sam bought a box of chocolates at a gas station and put them in Dean’s seat while he was in the restroom. Dean didn’t comment. He grinned broadly, leaned over the console and kissed Sam, right there in the front seat of the car, in broad daylight.

It became something of a tradition after that. They would celebrate anniversaries; weeks at first, then months and six months and years and decades. They’d also celebrate birthdays. Most important, most celebrated of all, was Valentine’s Day. It went something like this: They would buy each other presents, splurge on a real hotel room with a bathtub large enough to fit two grown men, and spend the evening together like that, surrounded by bubbles and other decadent shit that Dean scoffed at but secretly loved.

Sam’s favorite part of the evening was when they crawled into the king sized bed, warm and relaxed, Sam as the little spoon, and Dean would whisper in his ear all the reasons he loved him.

Sam tried to remember all of the reasons, but the list had grown too long for that a few years back. Here were the one that stood out, though:

Dean loved Sam’s eyes.  
Dean loved the way Sam talked to victims and witnesses, the way he made all of his boisterous gigantic presence kind and gentle and un-intimidating when the situation called for it.  
Dean loved the way Sam laughed when they saw a dog.  
Dean loved Sam’s hair  
He loved his hands.  
He loved the way Sam always slept more peacefully in the Impala than anywhere else.  
He loved the way Sam looked when Dean first pushed into him, like the pleasure of it was a surprise each time.  
He loved Sam’s voice, especially when it got rough from drink and late nights and shouting Dean’s name.  
He loved the way Sam always unpacked his alarm clock, no matter what motel room they were staying at or how long they were staying there, like the stupid clock made the place _his_ somehow.  
He loved that Sam had written in Sharpie, on the underside of the clock where he thought Dean wouldn’t see; “Sam and Dean forever.”

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he was a bit of a romantic himself.


End file.
